


Relapse

by Answer



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Post-Movie, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-25
Updated: 2011-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Answer/pseuds/Answer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's called the test. Sometimes, after a little time has gone past, we cast the spell again. If the desired change has really taken hold, then it will break straight away. We do it in their sleep and they'll never know. But if it hasn't..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He woke up feeling relieved. He always did. It was over. Ten years of asking himself the same unanswerable questions. Ten years of waiting, wishing, hoping, praying to any force that might be out there and then giving up, because no cosmic force for good could let anyone feel the way he did, suffer the way he did. He had deserved it, and yet no one deserved _that_. He had had a chance to end it, but what sort of chance had it been?

And now it was over. Every morning, that was his first thought. It was over.

Then, he would remember why it was over. He would open his eyes and look at her sleeping form, the gentle brown waves of hair that framed her face, the sheets drawn up to her chin, and he would forget to breathe for a moment, because life seemed to come not from the air around him but from her. The world centred on his perfect wife.

After that, life plunged on. He was carried from one thing to a next by a sort of current, an inescapable flow from one end of the day to the other. He was buoyed along by the servants: a team who, it was often remarked by his visiting peers, operated like a well-oiled machine. They swept him along from duty to duty, meeting to meeting, each one blurring into the next, the people he met and spoke to like distant figures on the shores of islands he sailed past. But there, with Belle, that was the home he returned to each night. Even now, with all he had longed for those ten years restored to him, he could not imagine how he could ever have lived without her.

He didn't know what she did, during those days, but she was happy, and the warmth of her love made him feel he could do anything.

* * *

She kept her eyes closed when she awoke, a barrier against the world. With her eyes closed, she could invent a dream of her own, the way she used to make up adventures in her head. She would lie there, keeping her breathing steady as though in sleep, and feel the warmth of him beside her, and dream that their bed was the whole world, a world that was just the two of them enclosed safely in the sheets.

He would always pull her out of the dream, getting up carefully so as not to disturb her. She would open her eyes slowly, blinking, and receive his soft gaze with a gentle smile. Lumière would enter then, gauging the time immaculately as always, and talk him through his appointments for the day as he helped him to dress, and she would sit up in bed and remind herself what a silly dream it was, and how dreadful it would really be to be stuck in a world the size of a bed with only her husband for company.

He would disappear soon after, leaving her with a kiss on the forehead and a promise to see her at dinner, a promise he never broke unless he had to. She would spend the day reading or gardening, an interest she had recently discovered, to the chagrin of the legion of gardeners who had been reluctantly prevailed upon to allot her a small, out-of-the way section of garden where she would not be too much bother to anyone. Sometimes she would ride to visit her father. He had been offered a home in the castle, and visited often, but preferred to remain in his workshop, tinkering with his inventions.

The village had changed a lot in the two years since her marriage. As a princess' former home, it had become something of a tourist attraction and, as a result, local business was booming. It seemed as though every time she visited, something had changed. A shop selling local curiosities would have opened up in someone's front room, or the baker would be walking around with gold rings on his fingers, drawing the attention of passers-by to the sign over his door that declared that his shop had once been purveyor of bread to the princess. Belle refrained from pointing out that he had been the only baker in town until the business explosion, because she was pleased that he was doing well.

She would finish these visits at the town's new library, funded by the prince at her request. Just the sight of it made her flush with pride, and think how lucky she was to be able to effect change like this. Inside, the familiar face of the former bookseller would beam her approach – when she had offered to buy his entire stock for the library, he had offered his services as a librarian and she had been delighted to accept. She would stay a while, talking to him and watching the initially-reluctant townspeople get to grips with the notion of books they could borrow for free. Some of them had learned to read there, clustering in groups around people who already could, soaking up the knowledge.

And then she would go home and dress for dinner.

* * *

It was evening, two weeks after their anniversary.

"What did you do today?" she asked him, her soup spoon poised, peering into his candlelit face across the table.

He swallowed. "Preparations for next week, mostly." Next week was the visit of the crown prince of Illyria – an infertile but gold-rich country to the north – and his retinue to discuss new trading opportunities. If they could be persuaded to pay a good price for wheat and other exports, it would be an immense boost for farming and the royal family's popularity. They weren't unpopular, especially now that things were back to normal after the prince's disappearance, but a little extra popularity had never harmed a monarch or his family.

"Is it all going well?"

"Pretty well." He smiled. "I'm sure Lumière would appreciate your help in selecting a suit in which I can receive them."

She smiled back. "I'll speak to him tomorrow."

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too."

* * *

Gaston's recovery had taken a long time. For months, he had barely seen the light of day, drifting in and out of consciousness, consumed in a cloud of pain. His injuries would have killed any number of lesser men, but if anything, he felt the pain with a greater intensity. Gaston knew what pain looked like on other creatures, and he knew what it felt like to work one's muscles sore to increase one's strength, but he had never really known it himself. He knew it now.

The extent of his injuries, as Lefou had summarised the endless babble of pointlessly long words the doctor had used, was that everything was broken. The doctor had added that it was a miracle that he had survived, but Gaston had snorted at that. He had survived because he was _Gaston_ , and no one did anything like Gaston did. Surviving that fall had been just another thing he was the best at, and it had come as no surprise to him when he had finally woken up, alive.

And now he was better. Not as good as he had been, because that was one hell of a standard to live up to and he really hadn't been very well. But better.

He was working on it, his recovery. Every day, from dawn until dusk, he engaged in an intensive programme of exercises that would help him get his strength back. He pushed himself hard, too hard, but he was determined. He was Gaston, he was the best, and he couldn't hang around being weak because of some accident. Someone would come along, get the wrong idea – someone would think there was room for another hero in this town, and there wasn't. There wasn't room in the country, in the _world_ for anyone else like him, because no one like him existed.

It had been while completing his twenty-first lap around the village one morning that he had seen Belle, riding her horse away from that weird building that had appeared, the one that was full of all those books – put together, he assumed, so that they could have a massive bonfire for the Winter Festival and rid themselves of them once and for all. He knew it was her, but at the same time, it wasn't. Maybe it was the dress. She was dressed like a princess or something.

He had asked Lefou about it. He'd made a funny face and looked at his shoes, so Gaston had grabbed him by his collar and hauled him up to eye level before repeating the question. Lefou had turned pink and stopped breathing so he'd put him back down.

"She's married to the prince."

Gaston needed a moment to digest this information. There were two problems here. One, _Belle had married someone else_? It was impossible, wasn't it? He'd never known Lefou to lie to him, not after turning that colour. She had been deluded over that Beast business, of course, but he had always known that she would come to her senses and marry him eventually. He made a mental note to do double the number of push-ups tomorrow, if he could figure out what that was. He was losing his grip on the town. Two... "What prince?" he growled.

Lefou took a deep, wheezing breath, loosened his collar and began.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Several moments of uncomfortable silence followed Lefou's exposition. Lefou used this time to reflect on how great it was that Gaston was feeling so much better while edging subtly out of reach. Gaston was trying to rearrange this new information so that it would fit in a particular hole in his brain. It wouldn't go.

"So this long-lost prince just appears out of nowhere and marries her? I turn my back – break it – for one minute and some prince thinks he can just take her?"

Lefou hazarded a nod. "I guess so."

Gaston fumed. Lefou wondered if he could get away with edging out of the building altogether.

"I asked nicely and she refused." Gaston was pacing now. "What does she want me to do?"

Lefou frowned. "Well... nothing. She's married to the prince now." He gave a weak grin. "Nothing we can do about that, huh, Gaston? Guess we'll have to find someone else—"

Gaston wheeled round to stare his diminutive companion squarely in the face. " _No one_ says no to Gaston." His eyes seemed almost to glow. Briefly, Lefou wondered if this was what hell looked like. " _ **No one**_."

Another silence. The tension in the room crackled over Lefou's skin.

"So... what do you want to do?" He really didn't want to ask, but he knew he had no choice.

Gaston looked away, cracking his knuckles. "I don't know yet," he said. "But I'll think of something." He'd invested a lot of time in Belle, time he could have been spending on dozens of other women who knew when to stop playing hard to get. He wasn't about to give up now, prince or no prince.

* * *

Morning. A big, bright, beautiful morning! The path ahead was clear and wide, flecked with dazzling sunlight split into patterns by the overhanging trees, the horse beneath her barely containing its boundless energy even as they flew along at a gallop – just as well, given the urgency with which they travelled. Now and then, Belle's hand moved instinctively for her sword and the feel of the cool, hard metal reassured her. But even with so great a responsibility on her shoulders, even with the fate of the world in her hands, she could not deny the exhilaration she was feeling, the swell of excitement in her chest. She looked sideways to her husband, her partner, her best friend and marvelled at the way his hair flew behind him, at the light dancing in his bright blue eyes. He met her gaze and they shared a smile so filled with happiness that it turned into a laugh. The world changed around them, danger faced them at every turn, but they fought as one, side by side. Nothing in the world could touch them as long as they were together.

" _Bon matin_ , _cherie!"_ It was Lumière, and she was back in the library.

She took a moment to collect her thoughts, then turned around. "Good morning, Lumière."

He scrutinised her face. "Is everything alright?"

She gave a deliberate smile. "Yes, of course!"

"The Master said you would assist me in the selection of his _v_ _ê_ _tements_ for next week."

Belle shook her head, gently, still smiling. "He only said that to make me feel involved, Lumière, you know that. You'll do a wonderful job with his clothes, just like you always do."

* * *

"She's not happy," were Lumière's first words as he entered the kitchen.

Mrs Potts and Cogsworth looked up from what they were doing, which was discussing the menus for the Illyrian visit.

"I beg your pardon?" Cogsworth enquired.

Lumière pulled up a chair. "The princess. Belle. She is unhappy."

Cogsworth frowned. "In what way?"

"I don't know. It is something in her eyes." He gave his colleague a sideways glance. "Of course, I am not surprised that an insensitive clod like you has not noticed."

Mrs Potts sighed, intervening before Cogsworth could think of a retort. "You're right. I've tried talking to her, but the poor girl won't let on what it is that's bothering her."

"Perhaps we could have the Master summon the royal dressmaker," Cogsworth suggested. "A new gown might-"

"No, no," Lumière interrupted, exasperated. "I cannot believe that Belle is in distress for want of a dress."

"No, that won't do." Mrs Potts looked around to make sure they were alone, then asked "Do you think it's the Master?"

Lumière leaned in. "What do you mean?"

"Well... do you think everything's alright between them?"

"She knows he loves her," Cogsworth observed. "The curse wouldn't have been lifted if he didn't."

They were silent for a moment as they contemplated this.

"No one is saying he does not love her," Lumière said, eventually. "But it is possible that they have lost a certain..." He looked thoughtfully at his hand. "Spark."

Mrs Potts nodded. "They don't spend much time together. The Master always seems to be so busy."

"With important diplomatic matters that are attached to his status," Cogsworth interjected. "This is a complex time politically and it is imperative that the Master is attentive to his duties. Only two weeks ago, I cleared an entire day at his request-"

"It _was_ their anniversary, dear."

"Yes, but what's that to a foreign king's emissary?"

Lumière rolled his eyes. "What is a foreign king's emissary when compared to the love of the Master and his princess?"

"He couldn't manage without her," said Mrs Potts. "You know that."

"That's true," Cogsworth conceded. "But he doesn't have to. What's she going to do, run off and seek her fortune? She's a princess. She's got everything she could possibly want."

Lumière snorted. "Cogsworth, you have no passion in your soul."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I think what Lumière means," Mrs Potts said, quickly, "is that we don't know what Belle wants. Who's to say that being a princess is all she's ever dreamed of?"

Cogsworth huffed. "Oh, now, really, it's not as though I'm talking about some poor peasant girl snatched away from her family and forced to live a life of uncomfortable privilege against her will. Belle chose this."

Mrs Potts shook her head. "No, Belle chose the Master."

"Who was born into the royal family, with all that that entails."

"And who looked like a Beast." Lumière sighed. "She fell in love with the Master. Not his face, and not his crown."

Cogsworth was out of arguments. "Very well. What do you propose we do?"

* * *

Tim had been a fork once. Of course, it was all ancient history now and, like everyone else, he'd learned to adjust to life on two legs. One of his favourite things about not being cutlery any more, apart from not having to enter anyone's mouth, was spending a good, raucous night at the tavern with his friends. That had certainly been the plan for tonight. Except that now his friends had disappeared and the world was starting to look a bit wobbly.

He leaned heavily on the bar, looking around for a familiar face. He didn't find one, but he wasn't too worried. He wasn't too worried about anything just at the moment. Hey, maybe he could make some new friends. He could certainly have another drink.

He was just about to act on this wonderful idea when, as if by magic, one manifested itself in his hand. A drink, not an idea. Beyond it loomed a friendly smile attached to a huge, red stranger. "Hello, friend," said the stranger. "The name's Gaston."

A drink _and_ a new friend? Just by thinking about it? Looked like this was his lucky night! "Tim," he said, getting better acquainted with his new drink.

"Good to meet you Tim." Gaston smiled. "I hear you work up at the castle. Why don't you tell me about it?"

* * *


	3. Relapse Chapter 3

Belle was angry with herself. It had been coming on gradually throughout the day and now she was sitting in one of her private rooms, ostensibly looking over a selection of gown designs Armoira De La Grande Bouche had prepared for her wardrobe for the new season, but inwardly fuming. If she had felt this way about anyone else, she would have tracked them down and had it out with them, but she could hardly do verbal battle with herself, so all there was to do was to sit on an immense _chaise longue_ and stew.

How could she have been so – she looked for a princessy word for it – _indelicate_? That scene with Lumière – well, alright, she was exaggerating, it wasn't a scene. But she shouldn't have let her feelings show like that. It had been a temporary lapse, a silly, transient feeling. So her every little wish hadn't come true. How spoiled had she become in these two years as a princess? The instant gratification was going to her head. Everyone had fantasies, everyone had some dream that remained unfulfilled. Look at the servants. Was that all they had wanted from their lives? To serve a royal couple? Had Armoira prepared these designs for her because designing dresses for a princess had been her life's ambition? Or did she do it because she loved rich embroidery and layered skirts but had neither the means nor the occasion to wear them herself? She couldn't tell. And what about Lumière, Mrs Potts and Cogsworth? Had they, as children, lain awake at night tracing images of household objects in the stars, dreaming of the day they would help to run someone else's household, and be the undeserving victims of a curse to boot? Unlikely. And what about...

What about all the little girls who dreamed of being princesses? What about the shining faces that had lined the streets for their wedding procession, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of her, to drink in the idea that a peasant girl like her could become a princess if only she were good enough. Well, she had a thing or two she could tell them. Who would want this, knowing what it really was? If they only knew about the long, empty days, the tedium of having everything you wanted at a moment's notice and... oh, she _was_ spoiled! It wasn't fair! She had never wanted this! She wanted adventure! She wanted to see the world, not listen in quietly to meetings about ruling it! She wanted to saddle a fast horse, pack up all the supplies she could carry and ride away into the distance. She wanted to meet people, to discover how little she knew about the world and then remedy it, one dangerous, thrilling, _wonderful_ adventure at a time! And she wanted him to go with her.

And that was the problem. That was why she couldn't have the life she dreamed of and that was why she was furious with herself for still dreaming of it. She loved him, as much as she had when the curse broke and more. She couldn't imagine feeling happiness without him by her side and she knew he felt the same. But he was a prince and she was a selfish, ungrateful princess and there was an end to it.

* * *

He faced the mirror like a man. He stared himself proudly in the eyes, blue and firm, taking in his pale, smooth skin and long, sleek hair. This was who he was. He smiled.

It occurred to him then that, in addition to helping him on with his jacket for dinner, Lumière was speaking to him.

"What was that?"

Lumière cringed. It had been a delicate piece of phrasing and he didn't like to start again. He almost lost his nerve, but the thought of Belle's sad resignation earlier spurred him on.

"I just said that I would like to talk to you about the princess, Master. If that is alright."

He frowned slightly, twisting to admire his outfit. "What about her?"

Neither of them had noticed Cogsworth enter the room, but when he began to speak, Lumière made a mental note not to antagonise him for at least an hour after this conversation was over. He deserved it.

"What Lumière was alluding to, if you will forgive the intrusion, Master –" He eased his way cautiously into the conversation "—Is that, and we hope you will understand that this is said with the deepest of respect-"

The prince's eyes narrowed. " _Yes_ , Cogsworth?"

"Well... it's just that... circumstances being what they are and so on..."

"Cogsworth."

"She's... not happy, sire."

The prince turned abruptly to face his head of household. "What do you mean?" He could feel the dangerous tone enter his voice, a certain depth that seemed to reach into the past and find a bit of Beast. He didn't regret the tone, though – it suited the way he felt, sometimes.

Lumière decided to return the favour by interceding. "Ah, Master – what he means is that, although the princess has said nothing herself, some of us suspect that the princess is feeling a little... out of sorts."

Muscles in the prince's body were beginning to tense. "Some of you?"

" _Oui_ , Mrs Potts, Cogsworth and myself. We were just saying that perhaps she feels a little lonely, since you are always so busy, and that maybe—"

"Maybe I neglect my wife?"

"Sire—" Cogsworth tried to interject but it was too late. Something inside the prince had been smouldering, and now the fire had become unstoppable.

"Come with me," he growled, and swept out of the room. Cogsworth and Lumière hurried after him, exchanging unmistakeably nervous glances.

As he pounded his way down the corridors and staircases, the prince fumed. How dare they talk about him that way? How dare they come to him and tell him Belle was unhappy? He loved Belle and her happiness meant more to him than anything else ever had or would – certainly more than any of them. And they came to him and told him she was unhappy? As though he wouldn't know? As though he was some heartless— He aimed a kick at a statue as he passed, stubbed his toe and tried to disguise his subsequent limp — _Beast_. Was that what they thought of him? Well, to hell with the lot of them. He had changed – Belle had changed him – and he owed his very life to her. He would _not_ be accused of neglect.

As they neared the heavy double doors that led to the dining room, he stopped in his tracks and span round. Lumière and Cogsworth, who had been close to jogging to keep up, fairly skidded to a halt in front of him.

"If you're wrong," he hissed in harsh tones, "I will have you removed from this castle and only your role in breaking the curse will save you from _exile_ , understand?"

They nodded. They knew this was meaningless, a throwback to earlier days, but neither of them had seen this strength of feeling for some time. They had hit a nerve.

Belle was waiting for him in the dining room, resplendent in an emerald gown, reclining in her chair with a book propped up on the table. She straightened as he entered and laid the book aside. She opened her mouth to wish him a good evening, then saw his expression and changed it to "Is everything alright?"

The prince paused, struck by the concern in her eyes. He crossed to her and took her by the hand. She stood up.

"Belle, you... you would tell me if you were unhappy, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," she answered immediately, but then she looked down.

He gently lifted her chin. "What is it?"

Belle's gaze drifted to Lumière and Cogsworth, who instantly began falling over one another to make a quick exit. When they had gone, she put her arms around her husband's waist, pressing her face into his chest for a few moments before she spoke again. The prince reflected that, once again, he owed his servants an apology.

Belle looked up at him. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's nothing. Just a silly feeling."

"Hey." He smoothed her hair away from her face. "What feeling?"

She sighed. She couldn't keep secrets from him, she didn't want to. But she didn't want him to think she was unhappy with him when he was the most wonderful, beautiful thing that she had ever known. "It's just that... sometimes I still think about adventure, about seeing the world. And I know it's selfish, and my life here is perfect, a dream, and I know how lucky I am but..." She moved away. "I'm sorry."

He pulled her close again, his thoughts swirling. Was he still keeping her prisoner? Had Belle made his dreams come true at the expense of her own? The thought took hold of him instantly, squeezing at his internal organs. "It's not selfish," he said, quietly. He pulled himself together. "Let's make it happen."

Belle frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'll have Cogsworth clear some time as soon as possible. It'll have to be after Illyria, I'm afraid, but we'll go away, take two of our finest horses and ride in any direction you want. Just you and me."

"Really?" Belle tried to suppress some of her excitement but it radiated from her in waves.

He took his princess by the hand again. "I promise."

* * *

"I've got a plan," said Gaston.

"Oh, great!" said Lefou. What he meant was: "I really wish you hadn't dragged me to this empty tavern extremely early in the morning with a plan that's probably got a lot in common with the one that nearly got you killed and by the way you're looking extra crazy today, did you do something with your hair?" but what Lefou said and what Lefou meant hadn't been within sight of one another for a very long time.

Gaston threw him into a chair and sat down opposite him. "That guy – Tom or whatever his name was – told me everything. Seems that what everyone's been missing here again is _magic_." The scary glint in his eye was back.

"Magic?" Lefou made to respond in disbelief, but something stopped him. Memories of that night began to seep into his consciousness, memories that usually remained hidden. They were being attacked by kitchenware and furniture. Something had wanted them out of that castle, something other than the Beast. "The things were under a spell?"

Gaston snorted. "Never mind the things. I'm talking about the Beast."

"What about him?"

Gaston grinned. Lefou didn't like it.

* * *


	4. Relapse Chapter 4

It was early in the morning, again.

No, scratch that, Lefou thought, cracking his knuckles and scowling. If Gaston's plans started getting any earlier, they'd be doing them yesterday. Gaston would come round to his house, knock on the door and, when he answered, grab him by the scruff of the neck and say "Lefou! Meet me six hours ago at the tavern, I've got an idea!"

It wouldn't surprise him at all if he managed it, either. He did the unlikely, the unkind, the downright wrong when Gaston told him to. Who was to say he wouldn't do the impossible?

So, it was early in the morning, again, and here they were, ten of the town's finest – and Lefou, as someone had joked – here to take part in Gaston's brilliant plan. None of them knew what it was, but that wasn't putting a dent in anyone's enthusiasm. One would think they'd forgotten what had happened at the castle, but it was more than that. They remembered it very well, just not the way it had actually happened. That was the thing about an ego like Gaston's. Once one got that big, it somehow gained the ability to rewrite history. Lefou found himself looking at them with disdain. He worshipped Gaston more than anyone, of course he did – but this was just silly. He decided to take matters into his own hands. You know, a bit.

"Gaston," he said, approaching him with perhaps a little less reverence than was customary.

Gaston could feel the thrill of the hunt washing over him, so he let it pass. "Yes?"

"I hope you don't mind me asking but... what's the plan?"

Gaston answered him by shouting dramatically to those assembled. "We're going to find an Enchantress!"

Cheering broke out, accompanied by hooting, clapping and stamping. The assembled men were nothing if not enthusiastic.

Lefou waited respectfully for it to die down and then said: "Why?"

Gaston hauled him briskly behind a tree. Lefou reflected briefly that if it weren't for his status as Gaston's right-hand man, he'd probably walk hundreds of extra miles every year due to not being hoisted aloft all the time.

"I _think_ I explained this yesterday."

"Oh, yeah! ... Well, you explained about the Prince really being the Beast." As he was saying it, he realised again just how ridiculous all this was. Still, ridiculous had never stopped Gaston before.

"Because of...?"

"Magic."

"Right. So what will we need to change him _back_?"

"Well, magic, I guess, but-"

"Exactly."

"But... why?"

It was too late. Gaston was striding back to the others. "We strike out east immediately. Stay close together and be ready for my commands." He glanced over his shoulder, briefly. "Lefou, you bring up the rear."

Lefou sighed.

* * *

"There. All is well that ends well, eh, Cogsworth?" Lumière beamed as they made their way through the kitchen. Cooks and underlings scuttled round them trying to look respectful and deliver the evening meal in a timely fashion.

Cogsworth's response consisted initially of nothing but hyperventilation. Eventually, he managed, between wheezing breaths: "All's well that ends well? The Master was seconds away from crucifying us!"

"I think you will find that crucifixion is illegal," Lumière responded, airily.

Cogsworth's eyes bulged. "He's the _prince_ , Lumière, for heaven's sake! He could make it legal especially for us!"

"What a treat that would be."

Cogsworth couldn't manage any more words and, instead, made a noise like a small pig being squeezed.

As they reached their chairs by the fire, Lumière gave his best deliberately-infuriating smile. It had never let him down. "Come now, Cogsworth. You are getting this out of proportion. The prince has always behaved like this."

Cogsworth wiped his brow with a clean white handkerchief, sinking gratefully into his seat. "I'd have thought the curse would have taught him a lesson."

"You do not think it has?"

Cogsworth hesitated. "Do you?"

* * *

It was about an hour past dusk when they got there. Lefou had no idea where 'there' was or how Gaston had managed to locate it so easily but... well, he was a good hunter. Maybe that was all there was to it. Maybe even Enchantresses left tracks.

Gaston was a little disappointed with the place. He had expected well... more. If he had magical powers as well as phenomenal physical ones, he'd advertise it a bit. Conjure himself up a nice castle or something. For some reason, the Enchantress appeared to favour a cottage.

"Wait here," he told the others. "I'm going in alone."

He was only slightly disappointed that the saucer-eyed men behind him did not raise any objections. He could handle this. He was Gaston.

He knocked on the door.

There was a moment's silence. Gaston looked back to make sure the others were still there and hadn't run off out of fright or something. They hadn't.

He knocked again.

More silence.

He drew himself up to his full height, took a deep breath and knocked a third time.

The door opened. Draped behind it was the most beautiful sight that had met Gaston's eyes since he had last checked his reflection. It was tall and thin and blonde and it had a huge, white smile.

"Good evening, gorgeous," said the smile. "Do come in, won't you?"

"Right!" said Gaston.

* * *


	5. Relapse Chapter 5

"I've been expecting you, love," the enchantress was saying. "What can I do for you?"

"I've, uh, got something to tell you," Gaston told the swirl of shimmering blonde hair before him. It was strange... he could tell she was beautiful, really, really beautiful. More beautiful than Belle, even. Well, Belle was only the most beautiful girl in _town_. Maybe he'd had his sights set too low. But anyway, he could tell this woman was beautiful, it was in every movement she made, in the way she seemed almost to glow – and yet, somehow, he couldn't seem to focus on her features. He could tell her face was perfect, but he couldn't quite make it out. He was, though the word did not feature in his vocabulary, dazzled by her.

The vision planted a mug of ale in front of him and swept off into another room. "What is it, darling?" she called back.

"Well, it's about the prince."

"What prince is that?" Gaston didn't notice, but there was something subtly different in her voice.

"The one from my kingdom. You turned him into a Beast." He stopped, suddenly. What if she got the wrong idea? It probably wasn't wise to offend an Enchantress. "Uh... which I think is great, by the way. Too many princes around. We need more Beasts – and hey, what better way to..." He trailed off, it was beginning to dawn on him that magic that could turn the prince into a hideous creature might also be capable of doing him some damage. Was it safe for that kind of power to be in the hands of a woman? It made him uncomfortable, anyway. Who was the authority that gave out magic? Maybe once this was in the bag he'd go and see him and ask him if he'd thought this giving-power-to-women thing through properly. But in the meantime he needed to focus on the... job... at... hand...

The Enchantress had come back into the room, only now she was Belle. Well, not _quite_ Belle. She was Belle in his dreams about life after his wedding day. She was Belle without that sharp look in her eye that he was sure came from too much reading... Belle with a little smile turning darkly-rouged lips, Belle with longer eyelashes, more curves in more of the right places. Something stirred in him and he fought for control.

"Too much?" she asked. "I heard this was your type." She leaned in. "And I figured you deserved a little treat for coming all this way with information for me." She stroked his cheek and smiled. "Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?"

Gaston took a moment for himself before continuing. It wasn't a surprise, of course, that she couldn't resist him, but a sharper instinct than his animal one was telling him that this level of involvement with an Enchantress could seriously jeopardise the plan, if not the rest of his life. Best to stay focused. "Uh. Yes. It's about the prince."

"You said, darling."

"Yes. Well. He's...um. He's gone back to his old ways."

She withdrew, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"He's gone back to being bad. Shouting at his servants, that kind of thing. Uh... withdrawing hunting rights. Not buying his round at the tavern." Gaston hesitated. These were certainly the worst things he could think of, but they didn't seem to be having the desired effect. He floundered. The Enchantress was a woman. What would she think was bad? And just now she looked a lot like Belle. It gave him an idea. "He won't let Belle read!" he burst out.

Now she looked shocked. "What?"

Gaston picked up the thread and ran with it. "He won't let her read any books! He says it's not right for a woman to read! He says she'll start getting ideas and... thinking." He shuddered. "Awful, right?"

She looked away, folding her arms. "I can't believe it. He seemed to have learned so much."

Gaston shook his head. "I'm just so sad about Belle. I asked her to marry me, you see, we had the wedding all planned out – and then he took her and I guess she felt she had to marry him because he's the prince or a Beast or whatever, and now..." He sighed. "I just feel like she deserves better than that, you know?"

The Enchantress took a few steps away and stood with her back to him. "Well," she murmured, barely loud enough to hear, "I guess it _is_ time for the test."

"What's the test?"

She turned back. "Oh, it's just a little rule we have in the magic community. If you're going to go around reforming people you want to make sure you're doing it right, right?"

"Yeah." Gaston had no idea what she'd just said, but agreeing with her couldn't hurt.

"This is kind of a secret." She narrowed her eyes and gave him a little smile. "But I can trust you, right? I mean, you came all this way out of the goodness of your heart."

"Exactly. What's the test?"

"Well, after a little time has gone past, sometimes we cast the spell again. If the desired change has really taken hold, then it will break straight away. Sometimes we do it when they're sleeping and they never even know. But if it hasn't..."

"He stays a Beast, right?"

"Right."

"So you can't just... turn him back into a Beast? With all the awful stuff I just told you about?"

She shook her head. "I'm afraid not. I trust you, _of course_ , but... well, those are the rules." She wrinkled her nose, then winked. "I'll be right back, honey."

She rolled her eyes as she walked away. _Idiot_ , she thought. It was funny, actually, he was like the prince's peasant twin – or the prince as he had been. He'd changed, she knew it for sure. It was just that lately... well, she _had_ been having some doubts. He was _better_ , no question, but...

The truth was, she felt guilty. She had twisted fate. Not just to reform the prince, that had all been in accordance with magical guidelines. But getting the girl there... What were the chances of an old man happening upon the castle and then his beautiful, good-natured, patient, understanding daughter showing up to rescue him and making a bargain with the Beast exchanging her freedom for his? Slim to none, right? Their love was real, alright, meddling with that would have undermined the whole thing, but... well, without her involvement, Belle's life would have turned out differently. Which was fine, as long as this version was better, she could sleep easy.

So maybe it would be worth doing the test. What she had told Gaston had been mostly true. The test did exist, but it tended to be applied at random... and it almost never failed to give positive results. Now that she thought about it, she was a little nervous. What if he wasn't reformed? It wouldn't look good for her.

But then she thought about Belle again. Not to mention the expression on Gaston's face when she undermined his horsedung story in five seconds flat. Yes, she would enjoy this. She snatched up the hand mirror from her dresser and walked back out to face him.

"Let me just check he's sleeping," she said.

"Right," Gaston said, slightly disappointed that he wouldn't at least get to see the prince suffer a bit. Having him briefly turned back into a Beast while he slept didn't quite seem worth the journey.

"Show me the prince," she said. The mirror glowed green for a moment, then she examined the image. There he was, alright, sound asleep next to Belle, his nose nuzzling into her pillow. She nodded at Gaston. "Right. Here we go." She focused hard. She'd learned a lot since she'd cursed him the first time – and she ought to have done, in twelve years. Cursing the servants had been – and she was embarrassed to think about it now – an accident. She narrowed her eyes. She wouldn't be making it again. She stared harder and harder at the image of the sleeping prince, aiming a fine beam of concentrated magic at him. _Beast_ , she thought. _Beast beast beast beast beast... NOW!_

She released it. There was a moment of sound vacuum and then the power was gone. She glanced up at Gaston, then back at the mirror, and waited.

* * *

Pain ripped his dreams in half.

It seared through him, cauterised every inch of tissue, stretched him, bent him, crushed him, tore through him looking for secret places that the burning hadn't reached and destroying them. Hair ripped through his skin so fast that it seemed to burn and fangs shot from his gums like bolts from a crossbow, embedding themselves in his lips. He howled in muffled, bloody pain and it was then that the final agony hit him: a scream, her scream.

He opened his eyes and there she was, frozen half-upright, tangled in the bedsheets, her face white and shining with sweat.

Slowly, horribly slowly, he lifted a hand in front of his face. It confirmed what he already couldn't deny.

He was awake, and he was a Beast.

* * *

Back in the cottage, the Enchantress sank into a chair, unable to utter anything but garbled versions of ancient arcane swearwords.

Gaston grinned. "I'll see myself out," he said.

* * *


	6. Relapse Chapter 6

Belle found she wasn't breathing and quickly forced herself to start. Self-induced asphyxia wasn't going to help the situation, and neither was thinking words like "asphyxia". She was panicking. What was happening? Why was it happening? A few moments of frenzied thinking failed to produce answers so she concluded that she must be dreaming, _please let it be dreaming,_ but she'd never had a dream this detailed, this real. She should have screamed herself awake by now but here she still was, gasping and shaking.

And there he was. She'd forgotten, in these two years. She'd forgotten the Beast. She hadn't noticed it happening because it had come on gradually, but time had softened the image. He hadn't been so big as all that, she'd started to think to herself. His teeth hadn't really been what you'd call fangs, his claws weren't _that_ sharp. He'd just been... you know, furrier than average. But now he was there, so close, sitting bolt upright beside her, starting to shake.

And he was still her husband, still her prince, and something awful had happened to him.

"You're... you're bleeding," were her first words. She lifted up a corner of the sheet to wipe away the blood around his mouth, see how bad it was. She moved gently towards him, concern suppressing her own panic. It was as though her mind wouldn't let her think about what had happened, as though the shock had numbed her. All she saw in that moment were his eyes, his bright blue eyes... and the blood. All she wanted to do was stop the blood.

To her surprise, he flinched. "Don't," he said.

She withdrew her hand. "But you're hurt." She moved in again. "Just let me—"

He moved backwards to escape her, slipping awkwardly off the bed and upsetting the bedside table. Belle flinched at the crash.

"I don't want you to touch me," he said.

Belle stared at him for what seemed like forever. He couldn't meet her gaze.

Then, her voice suddenly thick with tears, she asked, "What happened?"

He glanced briefly at her face then, and it was that that finally did it for him. His beautiful wife, her face scrunched and red with tears, her body tensed in horror. He started for the door but someone knocked on it so he turned instead for the full-length windows that opened on to the balcony. A single blow from one of his horrible, mutated fists threw them open. He swung himself over the balcony and, without a moment's hesitation, he began to climb. He couldn't be near her.

Belle leapt out of bed and ran across the room but he was out of sight before she reached the balcony. Behind her, the door opened and Cosgworth, Lumière and Mrs Potts burst into the room.

"Forgive the intrusion, your majesties, but..." Cogsworth stopped, noting the overturned table and broken glass. They hurried over to Belle.

Lumière was the first to see Belle's face. " _Cherie_ , what is it?"

Mrs Potts put her arms around her. "What's happened, dear?"

It was a few moments before Belle gained enough self control to make herself understood. "H-he's ch-changed back," she sobbed into Mrs Potts' shoulder. "I don't know how, but... but..."

The servants exchanged horrified glances. "What do you mean," Cogsworth asked, "changed back?"

Belle took a few gulps of air. "I don't know. I woke up and he... he was a Beast again."

"How is that possible?" Lumière demanded of no one in particular.

"Where is he now, dear?" Mrs Potts asked, gently.

Belle gestured. "Up there somewhere. He had blood on his face and I tried to wipe it off and he told me not to touch him and..." She started to cry again.

"Come back inside." Mrs Potts took her hand and started to lead her back towards the bed. "He'll be alright." She sat down on the edge of the bed, gesturing for Belle to join her.

Belle sat down. "I just don't understand why this... and he wouldn't let me touch him... all I wanted to do was to make sure he was alright..." She could feel her hands shaking.

Mrs Potts put an arm around her. "You didn't do anything wrong, love. Don't worry."

Lumière tapped Cogsworth on the arm. "I think we should step into the corridor for a moment."

Cogsworth nodded and the two of them left the room as respectfully as they could. They walked in silence as far as the staircase, where Cogsworth judged that they were out of hearing distance. He turned to his companion. He had intended to phrase the thing neatly, but in the end all the came out was a frenzied "What are we going to do?"

Lumière shrugged. "I do not see what we can do. Find the Master, I suppose." He sighed. "I do not see how this can be. The curse was broken. They love each other."

"Could he have been cursed again?"

"Without telling him how to break it?" Lumière shook his head. "If it was that Enchantress again, then she is evil. He does not deserve this."

"No one deserves th- Master?"

They had reached the foot of the stairs now and, crossing the entrance hall, Cogsworth's eye had been caught by the open ballroom door. Beyond it, silhouetted by the moonlight, was the Beast.

Cogsworth and Lumière broke into a run as they approached him. He looked at them briefly and they both recognised a sorrow in him that they had hoped never to see again.

"Master! Are you alright?" Lumière laid a cautious hand on his furry shoulder.

"Does it look like I'm alright?" There was no anger in the response. Lumière wished there had been.

"Master, I'm so sorry," said Cogsworth. "We'll sort this out. We'll do whatever it takes to get rid of the curse again."

The Beast shook his head, slowly. "There won't be any way out."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a punishment," he replied heavily. "I'm the only one who's been cursed. It's because I don't deserve her."

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

The Enchantress now had so many books, charts and magical artefacts spread across every horizontal surface in the cottage that she had been forced to conjure up an additional room. Her usually magically-coiffured hair was tousled and the quill she gripped in a slightly sweating hand was dripping black ink onto unfathomably valuable magic tomes. Every now and then she swore violently and made something explode.

Thus far she had managed to rule out the position of the stars, the Prince-Beast's birth sign and the alignment of the planets as explanations for what had happened. She had read every passage on transformations and reformative use of magic in every book that alluded to the subject. She had used the magic mirror to send a message to every magical contact she had – framing it as a theoretical enquiry, of course. She had been searching desperately all night but the only conclusion was that she had failed. The prince hadn't changed.

But he had! She summoned up images of him in the mirror, from that Christmas when she had cast the spell on him until his wedding day. Anyone could see it in his eyes. He loved Belle. And Belle loved him. That was why the spell had broken. And they still loved one another, she was sure of that as well. She had measured it every way the magical community had ever thought of, short of cutting out both their hearts to see whether they fit together, as proposed by a rather unpleasant fourth-century warlock who didn't get invited to many parties. She had felt fairly safe in giving that method a miss.

But why, _why_ had he failed the test?

She slumped on the desk, her head in her hands. This was ridiculous. She wasn't going to let this problem beat her. She wasn't going to be humiliated. She _knew_ she'd done well, that the prince was a far, far better man than he would ever have been if she hadn't intervened.

 _Go back to the beginning_ , the last Enchantress, her mentor, had told her. _Go back to the beginning and look around._

She stood up, seizing the mirror again. She set it down carefully on the table in front of her and climbed on to the chair. Concentration was required here if she was going to avoid smashing up a rare and expensive piece of equipment. She closed her eyes, muttering under her breath. When she felt ready, she jumped onto the table.

She fell straight through the mirror.

When the world settled down, she was outside the castle. It was a winter's night, cold and dark. She looked around and spotted herself disappearing around the round, jutting wall of the ballroom. She took a moment to prepare, then strode off after herself.

"It's twelve years ago," she said, aloud, invisible and inaudible to her former self. "I'm doing a final check, just making sure that this prince really is who I think he is. That he deserves what I'm going to do to him."

She joined herself at the window, watching the prince reject his Christmas gifts.

"Spoiled and selfish," muttered her other self.

She sighed. "I've really got to get over this habit of talking to myself." And then it struck her. That was it. Oh, goddesses, that was _it_! She watched, her hand over her mouth, as her former self ducked away from the window and underwent the awkward and frankly uncomfortable transformation into a hideous old crone.

Spoiled and selfish.

It all took place exactly as she remembered it. Twice, he refused to let her in. Two chances.

"Go away, you wretched old hag."

She remembered that that had stung. After all, it was still her body, even if she knew it was under a spell.

A showy transformation, this next one. It wasn't necessary to levitate and glow while changing back into one's ordinary form, but that had been her style at the time. She'd worked something similar into the curse she'd put on the prince. The follies of a young Enchantress. Maybe if she'd been paying less attention to stunts like that and more to the spell she wouldn't have cursed the servants too. It was a sobering thought.

" _You have been deceived by your own cold heart_." The echoing voice as well? Oh dear. Never again. " _You are cruel and you are selfish. Until you have learned what it is to truly love another person, and to earn their love in return you shall remain in shape what you are inside... a_ _ **Beast**_."

She had to look away as the transformation took place. It was horrible, even knowing that he deserved it. She wasn't sure she could do any of this again.

She knew what the problem was now. That wording – the whole damn spell, in fact – was wrong. Badly wrong. She had cast the spell so that the prince would see the error of his ways, so that he would learn to treat others with respect, regardless of their appearance or station or anything else. She had wanted to make him a better person. So why, _why_ hadn't she composed the spell around that?

What she had meant was "learn to be a better person and you'll be free". But what she had _said_ was "find love and you'll be free". That was what was wrong. When he and Belle fell in love, the conditions of the spell had been met and the spell was broken. But the test was designed to ensure that the _spirit_ of the spell had been met, that the desired change had taken place. And it hadn't.

"You damn romantic _fool_ ," she hissed at the other her, the one now blasting the rose into existence and explaining its function to the cowering Beast. "It's not the same thing at all!"

How blind she had been, to think that falling in love would utterly change his nature, as though one segued instantly from arrogance to selflessness on exposure to the curative qualities of True Love.

The prince did love Belle. Belle loved him. But she loved him in spite of his faults, the faults that were still there.

Spoiled and selfish.

The Enchantress snapped her fingers and the past melted away and she was back in the infuriating present. Somehow, she didn't feel any better for having solved the problem.


End file.
